


and i loved you so much it was making me sick

by blackwood (transjon)



Series: never dream of you again [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Catboys & Catgirls, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Extremely Dubious Consent, Groping, M/M, Trans Male Character, threatened forced sterilization, trans author so dont try any shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: When Elias’ arms close around his waist from behind Jon doesn’t flinch.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: never dream of you again [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027144
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77





	and i loved you so much it was making me sick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GrangeLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrangeLady/gifts).



> its my legally mandated forced sterilization for trans people in my birth country and i get to write sexualized fic about that. turn around now if this is going to squick/trigger you. 
> 
> inherent consent issues from an abusive relationship. jon doesnt say no but elias doesnt ask and jon certainly doesnt feel like he has enough agency to say no anyway so its not like that matters very much. this will make much more sense if you read the first fic in the series.
> 
> didnt know how to tag this but specifically forced sterilization as birth control. these are threats, not things done in the fic. he doesnt actually get forcibly sterilized in the series. elias makes fucked up threats about nonconsensual surgical body mod as a way to maintain control over jon & his body. there are also references to declawing and tooth pulling as a punishment (also as threats). there is no overt transphobia but its very hard to divorce forced sterilization from transness even though theyre not treated as connected here.
> 
> jons genitals are referred to w/ words cock, hole, folds
> 
> title is from going to scotland by the mountain goats

The rubber gloves Jon wears while doing dishes are powder blue, and he appreciates having them. 

Elias got them for him, which was very nice of him. Elias knows this – that he appreciates them, likes them – because he’d told him so, and because Elias always knows, even if he likes to hear it out loud. Elias gives him nice things, and when Elias’ arms close around his waist from behind Jon doesn’t flinch. 

“Hi,” he says softly, and for just a second he stills completely, ready for whatever command or request Elias might have for him. 

“Mm,” Elias says, and kisses behind his ear gently, softly. “Hi.”

Jon doesn’t ask if there’s something he wants, because Elias will tell him. It’s easy, in that way. How he doesn’t have to keep guessing. It’s almost a relief. Elias doesn’t say anything, though, so Jon slowly, hesitantly goes back to his task. The motions he goes through are easy enough. Rinse off the worst, dish brush for what still sticks, soapy sponge, rinse again, place in the drying rack. 

The arms around his waist pull back, Elias’ hands brushing over his sides for a second before they keep moving, just a little bit more, just a little lower. One moves to grab his hip loosely. The other settles between his hip bones, over the flat plane of his stomach, and presses down gently, and then again, almost like a half-hearted imitation of a gentle massage. He still doesn’t say what he’s thinking of, and Jon frowns lightly. Is he going to say it? Is Jon supposed to guess? Usually he isn't. Usually Elias just tells him. 

Elias’ mouth moves down from his ear, along the side of his neck. Jon shudders and moves his head obediently to make room for him. “Elias,” he whispers.

“Shh,” Elias tells him. Jon closes his eyes. His entire body starts trembling. The tap is still going. The hand on Jon’s belly doesn’t stop moving either. “Stay still.”

That he can do. One by one he wills his limbs into turning into stone, until he’s not sure he could move them even if he wanted to. Unless Elias told him to, of course. He can and will do anything Elias tells him to do. He always does, because he has to. It’s amazing what someone can do when given no alternatives. 

The hand on Jon’s hip slides down and then slips underneath the waistband of his joggers. The breath he takes stutters in his throat, which has turned to stone too. Elias kisses the side of his neck again. “Jon.” 

It’s not really a warning. It is an acknowledgment of the fact that it could be one. 

Elias’ fingers, warm and long, slide down until they can slot themselves against the shape of him, two fingers pressing themselves between his folds through the fabric of his underwear. His thumb reaches up to slowly rub over Jon’s soft cock. Jon doesn’t flinch.

“Good boy,” Elias mumbles. His thumb moves. Tap, tap, tap. Jon doesn’t know if he wants to tilt his hips away or buck into the touch in search of the pleasure that will eventually follow. He’s not allowed to move so it doesn’t matter either way. 

“Are you going to fuck me?” he asks softly. The hand on his belly moves again, knuckles massaging and kneading the vulnerable flesh of his stomach softly. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, but it feels strange. A little bit tender. Like he’s not supposed to do that, not there. The lips on his neck move to rest over his pulse point. A hint of tongue. Jon stays still. 

“I was thinking,” Elias says, very softly, “I should have you spayed.” Neither of his hands stop moving. His thumb swipes over the shaft of Jon’s cock, getting sensitive from the teasing, and Jon, suddenly light-headed and dizzy, whimpers before he can stop himself. 

Elias, patient and seemingly feeling generous with his affection, kisses over the hammering of his pulse. His hand stops kneading and flattens itself over his belly instead, palm down. The touch still isn’t painful but it is firm. Jon, suddenly sickeningly aware of _what_ he’s trying to touch through his skin, feels his knees try to buckle before he remembers he’s supposed to stay still. Stone, he reminds himself, and then there’s Elias’ tongue, again, against the beat of his pulse. Like Elias is trying to taste the flow of his blood through his skin. The hand in his trousers moves slightly, two fingertips wiggling their way just barely inside his hole, where he’s getting wet from the motion of Elias’ thumb on his cock. 

Jon’s made of stone. Jon’s not allowed to move. Elias doesn’t elaborate. Maybe Jon is supposed to ask. Maybe he’s supposed to just take it, like he’s supposed to take everything else Elias makes him take. The silence builds. 

“Why?” Jon asks finally. He knows the logic behind the declawing and the tooth pulling. How he can use them to hurt Elias, or himself, or someone else. He’s having a hard time coming up with a reason for this. 

Elias doesn’t respond. He presses his face further into Jon’s neck and inhales deeply. The hum he lets out vibrates through Jon’s body. For a long, long minute Jon thinks it’s all he’s going to get, the threat of it, what could become a promise, that he’s just going to know what’s going to happen but not why. No way to course correct. No way to stop things from happening if he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong. 

The thumb on his cock presses down and swipes, just right, just how Elias knows he has to to rip an involuntary noise out of Jon, and Jon moans without meaning to. It’s a sickening sound. Elias doesn’t tell him off for it. His lips, still on his neck, curl into a little smile. “Aren’t you tired of condoms?”

It’s not his fault, Jon realizes. It could be relief, except it’s not, because it means it’s not about him doing things wrong, or doing things right. It means the thing that’s wrong is _him_. That Elias wants him a specific way and how he feels about it doesn’t matter. That Elias can do whatever he wants to him, because Jon is his. Jon is always his. 

Elias lets go of him. Jon slumps forward, hands reaching for the edge of the sink to balance himself, vision swimming. His heart hammers in his chest. Dishes, he thinks vaguely, there’s still dishes. One hand reaches into the stack of plates and pulls one out blindly. Water pours into the powder blue glove. Jon doesn’t notice it. 

Somewhere behind him Elias starts humming pleasantly. Somewhere within him something, like a flower, blooms and wilts and then starts rotting.


End file.
